


The King's Heir

by NeverAndAlways



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Childbirth, Complete, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mpreg, Not Beta Read, Post-Canon, Pregnancy, Sad Bilbo, Young Frodo Baggins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:23:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3093389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverAndAlways/pseuds/NeverAndAlways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Both a continuation and a re-write of "Thorin's Heir", which I never finished because I am an idiot and I accidentally orphaned it.)<br/>-<br/>This takes place after the events of The Hobbit. Bilbo is pregnant, and Gandalf and the Dwarves (minus Thorin, Fili, and Kili) are accompanying him back to The Shire. They stop in Rivendell for a brief rest- or so they think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was raining in the mountains.

Bilbo hated rain.

More accurately, he'd learned to hate it. He used to love a good storm, back when he lived in Bag End; he loved to sit in front of the fire with a cup of tea and a book and listen to the pattering rain outside. Being in the middle of a storm was a different matter entirely. It was cold, and everything got wet no matter what he did, and his belly was always in the way and that was wet too. Miserable. He pulled his blanket closer around his shoulders and tried to make himself small- no easy task at nine months. If Fili and Kili were here, they would be chatting with him and making jokes...they were such boys, but they always knew how to make light of a situation. Oh, he missed them. And Thorin. Thorin, most of all. The ache in his chest only grew when he left Erebor, and even more upon discovering that he was with child. It was all he had left of Thorin now. That should have made him happy, but it didn't. Not really. Thorin would have been overjoyed, of course, to know that he had an heir, and Bilbo wished he could have been there. The baby took after its father already- quite the little fighter, always jabbing and punching. Bilbo had actually begun to volunteer for the night watch. He figured it was better than laying awake or drifting in and out of sleep all night while the baby tried to kick its way to freedom. A big, fat raindrop landed squarely on his nose; he shook it off and huddled deeper into his blanket.

"Everything alright, Mister Bilbo?" asked a lilting voice behind him. It was Bofur. He'd taken it upon himself to look after Bilbo- and, by association, the baby -after Thorin's death. Bilbo didn't have the heart to tell him that he really didn't need looking after. Pregnant or not, he was a grown Hobbit. He could take care of himself, thank you very much.

He gave Bofur a tight-lipped smile. "Fine, fine." he said, trying to sound cheerful. That was the exact opposite of how he felt, but he knew the Dwarf would worry. Bofur smiled, oblivious to his dripping hat, and turned away. The rest of the company was scattered around the clearing where they'd stopped for the night, largely ignoring each other. The death of Fili and Kili had taken much of the light away from the group, and Thorin's death had robbed them of their leader. They didn't seem to know what to do with themselves. Especially Dwalin; he'd become sullen and reclusive. He barely spoke to anyone, and when he did speak it was only to complain or criticize. Gandalf did the best he could in Thorin's stead, but Dwarves are unruly at the best of times. They would be in Rivendell tomorrow, at least. Hopefully that would bring them some much-needed peace.

oOo

The company reached Rivendell just before sundown the next day. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or so the saying goes; preoccupied as he was, Bilbo couldn't help but let out a contented sigh when the Elf-haven came into view. Gandalf and even some of the Dwarves seemed to relax a bit, as well. They filed across a short bridge to a small stone courtyard surrounded by trees, and Lord Elrond swept out of the shadows to greet them. Gandalf stepped forward; the two exchanged greetings and a few words in Elvish, then Elrond turned to face the company. His golden-red robes were almost luminous in the fading light, and next to him the gaggle of Dwarves must have seemed terribly bedraggled and ugly. But the tall, stately Elf showed no emotion; he looked thoughtfully at each Dwarf in turn before addressing them all in Elvish, and again in the Common Tongue.

"Welcome, my friends, to Rivendell. Your journey has brought you far from home, and you have sacrificed much. Rest well, and may your time here be fruitful." these last words came with a pointed glance at Bilbo, who suddenly felt very self-conscious. He shuffled his feet and put a hand to his belly, and the baby kicked lightly against it, as if in response.

That evening, the Company enjoyed their first real supper in months. They were given a long, spacious room to sleep in, and Gloin wasted no time building them a roaring campfire. Songs were sung and stories were told and there was laughter- it was good to be in Rivendell again, despite their grief. But Bilbo found, before too long, that he wanted to be alone. So he slipped away and found a smaller room to settle down in. He rolled out his bed and once he'd found himself a book, the night passed quite pleasantly.

oOo

A day went by, then two more. The Dwarves kept mostly to themselves, and Bilbo did the same. He spent his days wandering around Rivendell and remembering, or poring over books and maps in the library, and the time passed quickly enough.

On their fourth day in Rivendell, Bilbo awoke feeling very peculiar. He lay still for a moment and wondered why. The baby wasn't kicking for once, but that couldn't be it...he rolled out of bed and peered at himself in the mirror.

Curly brown hair: check.

Stubby nose, pointed ears: check.

Hairy feet: check.

Belly...definitely check.

...Nothing looked different, at least. "You're getting cold feet, Bilbo, that's all." he said, pulling off his nightshirt. "Nothing to worry about." the words had hardly left his mouth, however, when a fierce tightness seized him like a hand around his middle. It caught him so off-guard that he had to lean against the mirror to keep from falling, and his heart pounded as the feeling rippled across his belly and down his back. But at last it subsided, leaving behind a breathless and thoroughly unnerved Hobbit. Cold feet, indeed. He hastily pulled on a shirt and trousers, and set off to find the Dwarves.

oO0Oo 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: things get a little messy in this chapter.

When Bilbo found the Dwarves, they were already at breakfast. They greeted him merrily and chatted to him as he sat down- even Bifur tried to make conversation (at least, he pointed to his nose and grunted a few words in Khuzdul, but that could've meant anything). Breakfast consisted of fruit and tiny, light pastries, but Bilbo felt much too unsettled to think about eating. He picked at his food while the conversations continued around him. From time to time he caught Gloin's eye, or Nori's, but the suspicion he saw- or perhaps only thought he saw -on their faces made him so uncomfortable that he turned his gaze back to his plate.

"Are you alright, Mister Baggins? You haven't even touched your food." a voice by his side made him jump. He looked up: it was Dori, his thick white brows knitted in confusion. But before Bilbo could answer, his belly began to tighten again. He nodded, muttered a quick excuse, and left in a hurry. As he shuffled away, Bofur stood up to follow. Balin stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Leave him be, lad." the white-bearded Dwarf said gently. "He's alright."

oOo

But Bilbo was not alright. In fact, he was quite scared. The tightening in his belly was getting worse; as he wandered the halls and walkways, he found himself stopping more and more frequently to lean against pillars, walls, whatever he was closest to. His back was hurting and so were his hips, but sitting down only made him restless. And so he walked, around and around, as the sun climbed through the sky and the tightness slowly turned into pain. He found himself thinking more and more about Thorin. He should have been there. At times he almost thought he could feel the Dwarf's presence next to him and it was comforting, even if it wasn't real.

At length, following a particularly painful cramp, Bilbo decided that his room was the best place to be if he didn't wish to be discovered; it was becoming difficult to stay quiet. The halfling pulled himself to his feet and set off, waddling as fast as he could. But when he rounded the corner, he came face-to-face with the two Dwarves he least wanted to see: Ori and Bofur, wearing identical looks of surprise. He sighed.

"Mister Bilbo! We've been trying to find you all mornin'." said Bofur.

"Gandalf said to leave you alone," Ori pointed out, with a cautious look at Bofur.

"Well, here I am." said Bilbo flatly. "You found me. Now if you'll excuse me-" he tried to slip between them, but Bofur blocked his path.

"Is something the matter? You don't look at all well." The Dwarf peered at him from under his hat.

"I'm fine, just...just tired." there was another cramp building; Bilbo cradled his belly with one hand and pressed the other into the small of his back, and drew a few deep breaths. Bofur and Ori watched in uneasy silence. If they had been suspicious before, there was now almost no doubt what was happening. Bilbo was tempted to have them go and find Oin, but at the same time he didn't want anyone to worry- then the cramp reached its peak, and he had to bite his lip to keep from shouting. On the other hand...

"No, I'm- actually, I'm not well." he said once he could speak again, "could you perhaps go and fetch Oin?"

Ori's eyes grew wide, and he backed away a few steps. Bofur looked grim. "Right." he said. "Ori, you find him. I'll take Bilbo to his room." Ori took another glance at Bilbo, then fled, running full-tilt with his scarf fluttering behind him. Meanwhile, Bofur supported Bilbo with a hand on his back and led him away down the hall. Although the stocky Dwarf could easily have supported his full weight if he chose, Bofur acted as though the halfling might explode at a moment's notice. Their progress was slow; the baby was shifting lower and lower and throwing Bilbo off-balance. He leaned heavily on Bofur, which nudged Bofur off-balance as well. From behind, they might've looked like they had had a bit too much to drink.

The next cramp didn't hit until they reached Bilbo's room. Just in time, too; Bofur nearly had to carry him through the door. Bilbo crouched at the foot of the bed until the cramp passed. Then he pulled himself slowly to his feet and began to pace the room, steadying himself on the furniture as he went. Bofur could only watch and feel useless.

oOo

It seemed an age before Oin found them. He hurried into the room, laden with supplies and looking quite professional. Bilbo caught just a glimpse of Ori lurking by the door before he was bundled onto the bed. When he looked back, the little Dwarf had vanished. Probably for the best. By that point, the contractions were becoming frequent and intense and the pain was casting a grayish haze over everything. They were a very effective distraction, though, while Oin examined him; any other time he would have objected to someone touching his belly. Now he couldn't have cared less.

After much poking and prodding Oin declared that Bilbo was, indeed, in labor- something he could have told him hours ago -and also that there was very little to be done yet. That made him want to scream. He was so tired already; how much longer could this take? He missed Thorin. Missed him, and hated him too. Thorin had done this to him, Thorin had left this creature to grow inside of him and now he was dead- all because of this stupid quest that Bilbo never should have been involved in anyway. Curse these Dwarves!

It was long past midday now. Bilbo had walked and walked until his feet hurt. His waters broke little by little, not all at once like he'd been told they would. He felt like a bucket with a hole in it. Oin was always nearby to check his progress, and now and then Bofur came to sit with him. He always brought his knitting; the steady clicking of the needles was a busy little sound, and it gave Bilbo something to focus on in the fog of his brain. But even that became background noise as the contractions grew closer together. He shivered, his teeth chattered; suddenly there were arms around him, and a squarish hand on his shoulder. He startled.

"Thorin...?"

But when he looked around, the only face he saw was Bofur's. The Dwarf smiled, apologetic and a little sad. Tears sprang to Bilbo's eyes; he closed them. Then the next contraction came and he sank almost gratefully back into the fog. They were slowing, he noticed. It wouldn't be long now.

oOo

"Bilbo? Come back to us, lad."

The Hobbit blinked. The sun was setting; when had he fallen asleep? And who was speaking? He looked around. Oin was at the foot of the bed with towels and a gently-steaming bowl of water. The Dwarf smiled under his beard. "It's time. The little one's ready to be born."

Bilbo could have wept. That was the best news he'd heard all day. But his muscles were tensing up already, so instead he pulled his knees to his chest and drew a deep breath. Oin was gathering towels; he nodded at Bofur, who was still seated behind the laboring Hobbit. "You should go," he offered. Bilbo immediately sat up, tried to turn around. He meant to ask Bofur to stay, but that wasn't the name that fell from his lips.

"No, no- Thorin, don't-" he caught himself and looked away, horrified.

That seemed to be all the encouragement Bofur needed. He drew himself up to his full height- which wasn't much, especially sitting down -and stared right back at Oin. "I'm not goin' anywhere." he said defiantly.

"Things get far less pretty from here, laddie."

Bofur didn't move. Oin sighed and shook his head. "Very well." he turned his attention back to Bilbo. "Ready?"

"No." Bilbo panted. The old Dwarf smiled again.

"It'll be over sooner than you think. Now, at the next pain, bear down hard as long as you can."

He didn't need to be told twice. Bilbo took a deep breath, held it, and pushed. The pain burst and spread through his body, down his legs, up around his belly; it was like a living thing, the way it moved. He pushed through it, though, stopping only when his lungs began to burn.

"Again."

Time stretched out as he labored, agonizingly slow. There seemed to be no end to it. The pain didn't stop or ebb, it came again and again and he could hear Oin coaching him but it was far away. He screamed until his throat was sore; he was beyond caring whether anyone heard. All he wanted was to be done.

"Good, the head is nearly out."

There was a sharp burning, then relief. But only for a few moments. He put all his remaining energy into bearing down as the pain blossomed and grew and threatened to tear him apart- and then Bofur was cheering and, through the roaring of blood in his ears, he heard the thin wail of a newborn. He opened his eyes.

"It's a boy." Oin held up the baby, who looked tiny in the old Dwarf's calloused hands. The infant was covered in blood and fluids, his head was misshapen and his face was scrunched up, and he was loudly announcing his arrival to the world. Oin laid the baby on Bilbo's bare stomach and, with a length of string and a clean, sharp knife, severed the cord that connected them. And while Bilbo tried to catch his breath, he wiped the baby down with water from the bowl, dried and swaddled him, and then gave him back.

If time was slowing before, now it stopped altogether. For one long moment that little bundle was the only thing in Bilbo's world. Both overjoyed and terrified, he reached out to touch the thin fuzz that covered the baby's face. A boy...a little boy.

"Thorin, we have a son."

oOo

Oin and Bofur crept back into their room. Bofur, who didn't much care where he slept so long as it was comfortable, planted himself by the window and soon began to snore. Oin, on the other hand, had to step over several slumbering Dwarves to reach his bed. There, he packed away his supplies and was about to lay down for the night- or what was left of the night, anyway -when he caught the scent of pipe-smoke. He looked to its source: a figure was leaning on the railing nearby, puffing away thoughtfully.

"Balin?" he whispered. Even in the dark, he'd recognize that beard anywhere. Balin turned around.

"Back already, then?"

"Aye. Bilbo's sleeping soundly." Difficult births were common among their people; Lady Dis herself had labored nearly three days to bring Kili into the world. A Hobbit birth was simple in comparison.

"And the bairn?"

"A healthy boy."

There was a chuckle in the darkness, and another whiff of pipe-smoke. Oin laid down.

"A son..." Balin's voice wobbled slightly. "Thorin would have been so proud."

"Aye, that he would."

They were silent after that. Both knew there would be questions to ask and to answer but for now all was well. Let tomorrow worry about itself.

oO0Oo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the story so far, please leave a comment- I'd love to hear from you!


	3. Chapter 3

Bilbo awoke the next morning to the rumble of a familiar voice. He opened his eyes; Gandalf was sitting with the baby in his arms, talking to him in an undertone, and the baby seemed to be calmed by the sound. He looked up, and a smile twinkled in his eyes.

"Good morning. Or perhaps I should say 'good afternoon'; you have slept most of the morning away." the old wizard said cheerfully. "Not that I can blame you, of course. You've been through quite an ordeal. How are you feeling?"

The halfling sat up and winced. "A little- ouch -a little worse for wear, but still in one piece."

The edge of the bed dipped under Gandalf's weight. "He's a handsome little fellow." he said as he handed the baby to Bilbo; the halfling cradled the child against his own small frame.

"Good morning, little one. What do you think of the world?" he whispered. The baby cracked open one eye, then quickly closed it again and made a cranky noise. He chuckled. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it." For a while, the waterfalls were the only sound. The new father just sat and marvelled over tiny fingers and even tinier pointed ears and long Hobbit-y feet.

"He will need a name." said Gandalf eventually.

Bilbo pondered. He hadn't given it much thought. He could just hear Thorin, insisting on a Dwarven name, but would that really be wise? There would be questions enough when he returned to the Shire, he didn't want his son questioned as well. His mind raced with Hobbit names: Isembold, Frodo, Rorimac, Erling, Ilberic...Frodo. He said the name quietly to himself a few times, tasting it. Frodo. It was a good name. He said it again, louder.

"Frodo."

"Hm?" Gandalf was staring toward the door as though lost in thought; he whipped his head around.

"Frodo." Bilbo repeated. "His name's Frodo."

"That is a fine name." said a voice by the door. It was Balin, with the rest of the Company behind him. "I don't suppose you're feeling well enough for visitors?" he inquired.

Bilbo found himself smiling, and that seemed to be invitation enough; the room was filled with Dwarves just as fast as he could say "come in". He was inundated with questions and congratulations until his head nearly spun. Then Gandalf- who had retreated to the head of the bed -rumbled a few words and they subsided. Ori was seated on the blanket next to Bilbo, while Bofur, Dori, Nori and Gloin sat on the edges. Everyone else was gathered around the bed- well, almost everyone. Dwalin was standing by the door and trying to look disinterested.

"He's tiny!" said Ori wonderingly. The baby's hand barely reached around his outstretched finger.

"He is, isn't he." Bilbo agreed. "And here I looked like I'd swallowed a watermelon." he watched for a moment while Ori tried to extract his finger from the baby's grasp. Then, in an undertone, he added "Thank you. For helping me, I mean. I hope I didn't frighten you too much."

Ori shrugged. "It was Bofur who did the helping."

There was a scuffling and muttering as they talked; Bifur wandered in to have a look at the proceedings. He looked down at Bilbo for a long while, as though trying to remember who he was. Then his beady eyes widened and he began exclaiming in Khuzdul and gesturing wildly. Bofur leapt up.

"-No no, Bifur, don't shout - that's Mister Bilbo's little one, remember, we talked about this-"

But Bifur would not be calmed. Still exclaiming, he backed away and broke into a shambling run down the hall. They could still hear him even after he disappeared, muttering excitedly. Bofur sighed.

"What was that about?" asked Bilbo.

"I wish I knew."

Frodo, whose face had crumpled at the first shout from Bifur, made up his mind and let out an almighty wail. "Oh dear." said Bilbo. He'd never had much experience with children, much less with babies. He bounced Frodo gently in his arms and made what he hoped were calming noises.

"I believe that's our cue." said one of the Dwarves, he wasn't sure who. "Let's leave them in peace."

One by one, saying their congratulations, the Company filed out of the room (Ori very politely shook Frodo's tiny hand before leaving). Bilbo looked up as Balin padded past him.

"Balin, wait."

The old Dwarf turned. "Hm?"

"Can we...I need to talk to you."

Balin waited until the last Dwarf had left, then he lowered himself creakily onto the blanket. He looked at the now-quiet baby in Bilbo's arms. "You've got some decisions to make, lad." he said gently.

"That's what I wanted to talk about."

"I know."

Bilbo traced his baby's stubby nose with one finger. Up till now, his only concern had been getting to Rivendell safely, and getting through the birth. Now that it was over, he had a lot to think about. "I don't..." he swallowed hard. If Thorin were here, he would have known what to do.

If Thorin were here, he wouldn't have to make these decisions.

He tried again. "People are going to ask questions."

"And rightly so." Balin agreed.

"What do I tell them?" That my baby is half-Dwarf? That his father is- was -King Under the Mountain and, coincidentally, is also dead? Come to think of it, what would he tell Frodo when he was old enough to ask?

"You could tell them the truth."

Bilbo scoffed. "They'd never believe it. I'd be laughed out of the Shire."

"Then you'll need a story."

Bilbo thought for a minute. "My father's relatives," he said slowly, "live well away from the Shire; somewhere past Bree. Maybe Frodo could be...my nephew. Twice removed. His parents could have been killed by orcs, or in a boating accident." he sighed. This felt terribly dishonest. But if it meant protecting his son...

"And what will you tell Frodo?"

"...I don't know." better to cross that bridge when they came to it.

The old Dwarf made an affirmative noise. He waited a moment, and when Bilbo was still silent, he continued. "He's going to be a fine young Hobbit someday."

"You say that as though you won't be around to see him."

"I won't, much as I'd like to. The two of you belong in the Shire; we Dwarves belong in Erebor."

"I know. But it was worth a try." Bilbo managed half a smile.

"Oin and Bofur will go back to the Shire with you and Gandalf and the little one." Balin explained. "But that's all."

Bilbo's eyes prickled with tears. Somehow it hadn't occurred to him that he would have to part ways with the Company. He'd gotten used to them; it was hard to imagine life without their presence, noisy and rowdy as they were...Frodo woke up again and fussed, distracting him from his thoughts. He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat.

"I think I'd like to be alone." his voice wobbled. Balin seemed to understand. He nodded once and left without a word, leaving Bilbo with more questions than when he started.

oO0Oo


	4. Chapter 4

Now, it would be nice to say that the following days were peaceful- but that was not the case. As anyone who has cared for a newborn will know, they have no sense of time. Their clocks are set to 'food' and 'sleep' and little else, so Bilbo's first weeks with Frodo were a blur of nappies and feedings and snatching sleep in between. He barely saw the rest of the Company.

-

On the second week after Frodo's birth, Bilbo was sitting with him in their room when there came a polite cough at the door. He turned to see Bifur, doing his best to seem imposing but looking more like an actor who'd forgotten his lines. Bilbo greeted him cautiously. Bifur had a tendency to wander; hopefully there was someone with him. To his relief, Bofur stepped out from behind the scruffy Dwarf, looking apologetic.

"I hope this isn't a bad time. Bifur said it was urgent."

"No. Er, not at all." Bilbo bounced Frodo in his arms; the action was almost a habit now.

Bofur nudged his brother, who was still staring. "Go on, then." Bifur shuffled forward, hands behind his back. Frodo made a noise in his sleep; the Dwarf stopped, distracted, and stared fondly down at him. There was a long pause.

"Bifur? You wanted to talk to me?" Bilbo prompted. Bifur snapped back to reality. Suddenly solemn, he drew himself up as tall as he could and pointed to Frodo.

"Nadnith." he grunted.

"Yes? What about him...?"

Bifur drew his hands out from behind his back, and Bilbo had to catch his breath- for there in the Dwarf's hands was a dragon. It was Smaug in miniature, carved out of smooth golden wood, with jointed limbs and tail. The little dragon was so detailed it looked as though it might leap up and fly away. "Oh," Bilbo breathed. "Bifur, it's gorgeous."

The Dwarf muttered a phrase in Khuzdul that he couldn't quite understand, but Bofur seemed to. "He says it's for your son." Another phrase. Bofur grinned. "It doesn't bite."

"Well, thank goodness for that." the Hobbit bit back a laugh.

"It's...a goodbye present."

Oh. He'd been trying not to think about that.

"Is that really today?"

"I'm afraid so. The others are packing as we speak."

Bilbo fussed with the dragon's wings. Somehow Bifur had managed to swap it for the baby while they spoke; the Dwarf was surprisingly gentle. He sang to Frodo softly (and mostly off-key), in a tune of his own making.

"They'll be ready to go within the hour." Bofur continued.

"I'll...I'll be there."

Bofur nodded. He and Bifur were halfway out the door when he realized what his brother was holding. After some negotiating, Frodo was handed back to his father, and they left. Bilbo sat alone with the dragon and the baby for a long time.

oOo

It was with a heavy heart that Bilbo went to the courtyard that day. It's not just blood that makes a family; these rowdy Dwarves were his kin now, just as much as any Took or Baggins, and Hobbits value family above all else. There was a lump in his throat already.

Everyone was milling around when he arrived. Bombur had already started on his supply of Lembas bread, and Dori was picking all of Nori's "souvenirs" out of his knapsack. Gandalf stood alone and watched. Bilbo sidled up to him.

"Good afternoon, Mithrandir." he said politely. Gandalf turned a kindly smile on him.

"Ah, here is the last member of our Company!" the wizard announced to the clearing. The Dwarves gathered around Gandalf and Bilbo. Despite his best efforts, Bilbo felt his eyes start to well with tears. He blinked them away. Dwalin, Dori, Nori and Ori, Bifur and Bombur and Balin and Gloin stood before him; Oin and Bofur stood next to Gandalf. They looked very different than when they had first met: older, and tired. Only ten of the thirteen who had set out from the Shire. And not ten of the best, nor the brightest, as Balin had said, but still- they were family. In a way, Bilbo supposed, it was good that Thorin was gone. Saying goodbye to him a second time would have been impossible.

"I suppose this is it, then." he sighed.

"Aye." Balin gave a solemn nod. "Time for us to be off."

Silence. Bombur brushed a few crumbs off his jacket. Then Nori stepped forward. To Bilbo's surprise, the Dwarf's eyes were moist.

"I hate goodbyes." Nori sniffed. "Let's get this over with." and he pulled Bilbo into an embrace. The Hobbit felt something metallic slip into his hand, and as Nori stood back, he could've sworn the Dwarf winked at him. He glanced down; a silver coin flashed in his palm. Trust Nori to find the shiny things. He only hoped it wasn't stolen. He quickly pocketed it as the next Dwarf stepped forward.

It was Dwalin. He had the same remote, closed-off look as when Thorin died, and he barely looked Bilbo in the eye. Instead he held out one enormous fist. It held a dagger, smaller than Sting and engraved with runes along the blade. "For throwing." he explained. There was a pause, then he laid his hand on Bilbo's shoulder and grunted, "Be safe." Then he turned and strode away.

Next was Gloin, who had nothing to offer but his best wishes, and Dori, who drew out the goodbye as long as he could. Bombur said nothing but gave him a single marzipan flower (no doubt snatched from the kitchens). Ori came last. The little Dwarf turned his attention first to Frodo, snug in his sling against Bilbo's chest. "I'm glad I could meet you, little one." he whispered. Frodo gave him a gummy smile, and he smiled back. "You take good care of your Da, understand?"

"I'm sure he will." Bilbo assured him. He put a hand on Ori's shoulder. "And you take care of yourself, Ori."

Ori nodded. "Tan menu selek lanun naman, tak natu yenet." the rough Khuzdul words sounded strange, coming from the little Dwarf. But Ori looked proud. "It's a Dwarvish blessing." he translated. "'May your forge burn bright, until next we meet'."

Bilbo managed only a watery smile at this. Ori stepped back into the group, and they stood expectantly. "Well," said Bilbo once he'd found his voice, "Safe travels. If ever you find yourselves near the Shire, my... **our** door will always be open."

The Dwarves bowed. One by one, they turned and started off down the stone walkway into the forest beyond. Gloin, Bifur and Bombur each gave their brothers a nod as they went. One by one, the shadows of the trees swallowed them up and their footsteps faded. Bilbo watched as though it could somehow keep them with him. There was that awful, tearing sort of emptiness again, just like he'd felt at Thorin's death...he turned without a word and left the courtyard.

Rivendell seemed much bigger and emptier now than it had when they'd arrived. Bilbo walked and walked until he found, right at the edge of a waterfall, a spot that overlooked the forest. There he sat until nightfall, peering down amongst the trees for a glimpse of the Dwarves. But he never saw them, and part of him knew that he never would again.

oO0Oo


	5. Chapter 5

Bilbo left Rivendell the very next day. The part of him that had longed for home since the beginning was eager to go. But another part of him had grown fond of life on the road, and this part was not so eager. It took its time packing, lingered by waterfalls and streams, stopped to gaze at the trees. Gandalf threatened to leave without him.

But at last they departed, with far less ceremony than when they arrived. Elrond came to see them off in silvery-green robes that seemed to melt into the forest. Once they left the clearing, Bilbo didn't dare turn around for some time; he couldn't quite trust himself not to go running back. Leaving Rivendell was rather like going back in time to the beginning of their journey: there was the secret passage to the Great East Road, and yellow grasslands with trees just beyond. Spring gave way to summer as they travelled. The weather warmed and the days grew longer, and they walked under blue skies more often than rain. Little Frodo blossomed. He grew and grew; the milky baby-blue of his eyes cleared and brightened until it almost matched the sky. At night Bilbo told him stories about Thorin and Fili and Kili and the rest of the Company, and all the adventures they'd had before he was born. He told him of King Thranduil in his great forest hall; of Bard's bravery and the Master's cowardice; of Gollum's riddles and, of course, Smaug. Sometimes Gandalf, Oin, and Bofur would chime in with a story or song of their own. And although he still often thought of Thorin, Bilbo found that it hurt a little less now.

Just before Midsummer, they reached Beorn's house. They hadn't meant to, really, and it was some distance from where they were supposed to be (Gandalf insisted that they weren't lost, merely taking a detour), but they stayed a few nights all the same. It was much less stressful this time around; Beorn seemed more agreeable when there were only two Dwarves instead of thirteen. He didn't seem at all surprised by Frodo. Frodo, for his part, seemed to like being there, even when one of the giant honeybees tried to carry him off. His poor father nearly had a heart attack.

Soon it was time to move on again. Well-stocked with food and a new map, their journey took on a different light. They could see the landscape as it was now, without the urgency of a quest behind them. And it was beautiful: rolling green countryside sprawled in every direction, wide valleys stretched away to mountains lurking at the horizon, and clouds turned it all into a moving patchwork of light and shadow. But seeing and experiencing are very different; the approach of Midsummer meant violent storms. Many an afternoon ended in thunder and rain that sent the group running for cover. And the storms passed as suddenly as they arrived, leaving everything damp and stifling. Evenings were very uncomfortable.

On they went, past Weathertop and the South Downs. Bree was alive and bustling with activity and while this was a welcome sight, it was also overwhelming. They had seen no one but each other for some time, and most of their party was nearly small enough to be stepped on by all the Big Folk around them. They certainly were an odd-looking group: a wizard, two Dwarves, a Halfling, and a baby. They attracted their fair share of sidelong looks. But Bilbo hardly noticed. There over the rooftops of Bree was Buckland, and the Old Forest and the Barrow Downs: the Shire. Home! His heart soared. But then he thought of Frodo, and it became more of a feeble hop. There would be so many questions, and he had so few answers. What would he say to the Thain? And what would he do about the Sackville-Bagginses? No doubt they had moved themselves into Bag End while he was away. So much explaining to do...he would much rather slip quietly back into his old life, go back to the way things were without anyone making a fuss or asking questions. But he couldn't, could he? He had left all that behind the moment the first Dwarf stepped into his house. He was no longer just Bilbo Baggins. He was Barrel-Rider, Luck-Wearer, Riddle-Maker, Elf-Friend, and so many other things. He had had an Adventure. That thought made him feel so proud and bold that he would have marched away on his own, had his Baggins sensibilities not kicked in moments later. But what good is an Adventure if you can't finally stand up to your relatives?

The whispers started in Buckland ("D'you see that, it's Bilbo Baggins!" "Can't be, I heard he was dead!"). Gossip spreads like wildfire; Hobbits came out of the woodwork to stare as they passed, and by the time they reached Hobbiton, a small crowd had gathered. There were Bolgers and Brandybucks, Hornblowers and Bracegirdles, all lined up along the road to see for themselves. So much for not making a fuss. They wound their way through the crowd, with Gandalf in the lead, until they reached the end of the road- and Bilbo could have wept. He was home. There was his mailbox and gate, and his fence overgrown with ivy, and his round green door, and it all looked just as he'd left it. Except for one thing: Lobelia Sackville-Baggins was standing in the yard, looking more like an angry hen than ever. He'd been right. 

-

If Bilbo had expected a quiet homecoming, this was not it. The Sackville-Bagginses had sold all his possesions when they moved into Bag End, right down to the last candlestick, and getting it all back meant endless haggling and bargaining from one end of the Shire to the other. This didn't bother Bilbo particularly; it was like getting to know his home again from the ground up. What bothered him was that no matter how much he fussed and rearranged, it still felt too empty. His footsteps seemed to echo in the hallway, and Oin and Bofur's voices sounded strange without the rest of the Company behind them. As much as he'd wanted to be home, now he wanted to leave again just to get away from it.

But Frodo was beginning to crawl now, and there was no escaping the steady stream of relatives at his door. He never knew he had so many cousins. The Dwarves were very polite (if a little bemused by it all), and answered all the questions that were flung their way (yes, there really was a dragon; no, it isn't coming to the Shire; yes that is an Elvish sword and it's quite sharp please put it down). Soon, the questions turned to Bilbo. His relatives were enchanted with Frodo. They bought his story hook, line, and sinker, and Bilbo was never quite sure if that relieved or disappointed him. He just shook his head along with them when they lamented the loss of Frodo's parents, and tried to look humble when they said how fortunate the little one was to have an uncle like him. And he quickly changed the subject when they remarked on how big Frodo was for a Hobbit baby, or wondered where he could have gotten those blue eyes. And after a while, he almost started to believe the story himself.

-

Bilbo's long adventure came to an end almost exactly a year-and-a-half after it began. It happened on an otherwise unremarkable late-summer morning. Bilbo awoke to the sound of hushed voices, and he knew it was time. He shuffled with Frodo out to the kitchen. Oin and Bofur had a map and a pot of tea on the table between them; they looked for all the world like a pair of gossips when he came in.

"Ah, Bilbo. Good morning." Gandalf swept around the corner, smiling as though he'd simply stopped by for a visit.

"Good morning, Gandalf." there was luggage in the entryway...Bilbo glanced from that to the Dwarves and back. "Thought you'd slip away before I woke up, did you?" he said coldly- and immediately regretted it. Bofur looked hurt.

"We would never-" he stammered. "We were-"

Oin waved him into silence. "It's alright, lad. I don' think he meant it like that." then, to Bilbo: "We didn't want yer neighbors to make a fuss. That's why we're leavin' early."

"I'm...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that..." Bilbo sat down heavily on the hearth. Frodo gurgled and tried to wiggle out of his arms. Why did they have to leave at all? He knew the answer, of course, but some selfish part of him wanted them to stay forever. Maybe he wouldn't go back to being his stuffy old self that way. "You'd have to leave in the dead of night, if you didn't want anyone to make a fuss." he scoffed.

"Well, either way, leave we must." Bofur said with a forced nonchalance. He stood up, and the map curled in on itself with a soft 'thwup'. "We'll cut through the Barrow Downs, and no one will be the wiser- whoops. Pardon me, lad." he sidestepped Frodo, who was scooting around the table. Oin followed him to the entryway; Bilbo gathered up his son and did the same.

At length, their three ponies were packed and ready. A chilly rain had begun to fall; Gandalf, Bilbo, and the Dwarves stood in the doorway for some time, gazing out at the rolling green hills of the Shire. Eventually Gandalf broke the silence. "I'm afraid we shall start growing moss if we stand here much longer," he said, "it's time we were off." he thumped his staff on the floor for emphasis.

'We'? Where was he going? Bilbo stepped in front of him. "Wait, hang on. You're not leaving, are you?"

"I'm afraid so. But not for good- after all, there are two Bagginses in Bag End now. Someone has to keep an eye on you both." Gandalf stooped down until he was eye-level with the halfling. "There is no reason to worry, Bilbo. I have never known a Hobbit with more courage than you; Frodo is in very good hands." the wizard turned and put one hand on his saddle, then paused. There was a gleam in his eye.  "But I don't make idle threats, Bilbo Baggins: I will be checking up on the two of you."

"We look forward to it." Bilbo said. Then he jumped- there was a hand on his shoulder. It belonged to Oin; the old Dwarf smiled sadly.

"Best of luck to you both, Mister Baggins." he said quietly.

"And to you."

Bofur came next, holding two rolled-up parchments and looking unusually solemn. He took off his hat- something he had done only once previously, before the Battle of the Five Armies. "I'm honored to have fought beside you, and proud to call you my friend." he intoned gravely. Then the hat was replaced. Some of the twinkle came back to his eyes. "We're gonna miss you somethin' awful." he handed over the parchments. "These are for you. Open them later, after we've gone." Bilbo could only nod.

"Well," he said when his friends were all seated astride their respective ponies. "I suppose this is our last goodbye." he turned to the wizard. "Gandalf- I wouldn't trade this adventure for anything, but I will never forgive you for filling my house with Dwarves." Gandalf laughed into his beard. But the moment was short-lived, and they soon became serious again. "I'm honored to have known you all. I just wish it could have ended under...under happier circumstances-" a little way down the road, someone hollered his name: another Hobbit was bustling toward them through the rain. Bilbo made hurried shooing motions at the Dwarves. "-but I think you really ought to go now, if you don't want anyone else to see you." he smacked Gandalf's horse on the rump to get it moving. And move it did: the three ponies were out of the yard and halfway down the road in no time. Bilbo watched them go, waving until they went around a bend and disappeared. Then he went inside and locked the door, and didn't come out until well after sundown.

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That evening, he opened the parchments. One was the Contract, the one he'd signed all those months ago. It unfolded like an accordion and reached almost to the floor; he spent several minutes just reading it, and running his fingers over the smooth lines of ink. Then came the second parchment. Nothing could really have prepared him for that. When he opened it, all the air left his lungs as though he'd been hit. There on the smooth paper was the Company, all thirteen of them, lovingly drawn in ink. There were Fili and Kili, laughing uproariously; Bombur was in the corner, chewing on a piece of Lembas bread; Nori was contemplating one of his many 'souvenirs' (this one a silver spoon from Rivendell); there was Bifur and Bofur, Balin and Gloin, Dwalin and Oin and Dori...and in the center, staring back at him with those piercing eyes of his, was Thorin. Bilbo didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He knew immediately who it was from- when he turned it over, there was Ori's signature in carefully-printed Khuzdul. He did cry then, when he saw that name. His adventure really had come to an end.

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	6. Epilogue

In the years that followed, Frodo did indeed grow to be a fine young Hobbit- though maybe not the respectable, ordinary one that Bilbo had hoped. He ate up his father's stories, and was a very adventurous little boy. The whole of the Shire was his playground. Bilbo got so used to just being an uncle, sometimes he forgot that Frodo really was his son. But then the boy would scowl just like Thorin, or flash a Baggins smile, and he remembered. Frodo was very much his father's son- sometimes he seemed to be all Dwarf. For a time, the garden was so full of holes that Bilbo could barely walk in it. But he was also very much a Hobbit. He fit into the Shire like a hand in a glove.

And Gandalf did come back. He visited the Shire often, to the delight of everyone- especially the children. Frodo and the other young Hobbits flocked to see him, forming a parade behind his wagon and clamoring for a fireworks display. Sometimes he brought word from the Dwarves, which made Bilbo both happy and sad. But he never let on to Frodo who these mysterious Dwarves were, or who he was. As far as Frodo knew, he was just a Baggins: a Hobbit and nothing more. He never wondered why his ears didn't point as much as the other children's, or why he kept growing long after they had stopped. He grew up quite happy. And Bilbo, proud as he was of his son, sailed to the Undying Lands with that one last story still untold.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> If you like the story so far, please leave a comment- I'd love to hear from you! :)


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